Failure
by ardavenport
Summary: In exile on Tatooine, Ben Kenobi plays a dangerous game and learns the limits of his part in the balance of the Force.
1. Chapter 1

**FAILURE**

by ardavenport

* * *

 **Part 1**

Ben Kenobi played a dangerous game.

Uranth, an older Twi'lek woman sitting across from him scowled at the cards she had been dealt, her faded purple hands rapidly reordering them to suit her. Her expression meant nothing; everyone else at the table did the same thing, a universal habit of small-time gamblers to visibly downplay their own hands, no matter what they had. Ben Kenobi's had a very reasonable hand, three pair and the makings of a run.

"I don't know," The Humanoid spacer, a Bolosar, continued the conversation that had paused while the new hand was dealt. She disinterestedly sorted her new hand. "I've never had any problem with Zeplah's gang; ship gets fueled and checked just fine." She crewed on a bulk freighter that carried rather pedestrian and legal cargo to and from Tatooine. "As good as any at the Empire ports." She casually laid her cards down, but the attentive antennapalps on her head betrayed her intense interest in the game. Kenobi had never seen her before and wondered if she was aware of what a terrible bluffer she was. But her travels to the Empire made her a source of unfiltered information, though she had so far not spoken of anything that could not be gained from other sources.

The furry Yakora on Kenobi's left muttered that her captain must have connections; his captain had to pay bribes to get any work done on time from Zeplah the Hutt's work crews. He named two Empire ports where the problem was worse.

She gave him a tart reply about ships that made trouble for themselves, just inviting gangsters to take advantage of them and their illegal profits. It was true that the Yakora's ship was reputed to skirt the law and Imperial import taxes with smuggled goods, but they did not carry any cargos of illegal items. He growled back, but did not respond to his fellow spacer's criticism; no one at the table had consumed enough intoxicants for such loose talk. He drew a card, sniffed at it and did not play any cards from his hand.

Kenobi drew a card. He now had one threesome and a pair, not quite enough to lay his qualifying cards down, but almost.

Nerwa, a young Twi'lek woman with pale green skin and dark eyes on Kenobi's right took the next card from the deck. Unlike Uranth, her jowls sagging and forehead bulging with age, Nerwa wore heavy gray straps wrapped around her head and over her brow to maintain the smooth and youthful profile that so many Twi'leks prized. She was a local; Obi-Wan had seen her at the card games and other gambling venues; she worked at a Mos Eisley café that served mediocre food.

Grell squawked from behind his Acqualish tusks that the Empire was as bad as the Hutts as he took his card. They would move in with a small security force to 'keep the peace' and before you knew it, there was a whole garrison of stromtroopers in your spaceport and then more Imperials would move in to collect taxes and trade duties to pay for it all.

The Bolosar spacer commented that her ship had never been molested by pirates since the Empire started keeping the peace in the lawless spaces. She liked the predictability and security that the Empire brought.

"And when the Empire comes to you with a new tax bill, be sure to say 'thank you very much' when you bend over and take it." The Dug sitting next to Grell lipped his fleshy mustaches in disgust as he took his card with a dexterous foot. She did not answer as Uranth took her turn, the last of the seven players to take their first card. She did not lay any cards down on the table and the Bolosar spacer took a card from the face-down deck on the gray tabletop next to the faded yellow glow-light in the center.

Normally, talk of what the Galactic Empire was up to was exactly what Kenobi wanted from the gamblers, but tonight he had a distraction to deal with. Someone was watching him. Someone behind him, somewhere in the room was very interested in him.

He had become aware of this unknown person's interest during the last hand. And though he had the hood of his brown robe up around his face, his senses told him that this was a particularly dangerous kind of attention.

Someone had recognized him.

When he first sensed it, he had debated leaving the game and luring his observer outside, but he had no information about them, or how well prepared they might be. A bounty-hunter might have heavily armed friends waiting outside. So, he stayed at the table, risking that they would not call in troops from Mos Eisley's Imperial outpost. A bounty hunter would certainly not do that, to ensure that they got the credit, and the reward, for bringing in a Jedi. Kenobi was not sure what the current price on his head was; a hundred thousand Imperial credits? More?

As he continued playing, no stormtroopers appeared. The sense of being watched continued, but it did not have the predatory, greedy feel of a bounty hunter. Was it possibly a friend? Someone who knew him who would not turn him in? It was not another Jedi, Kenobi was certain of that; the Force did not flow through this person any differently than the other gamblers and transient spacers around them.

Friend or foe, Kenobi would conceal his exile on Tatooine from them. Mos Eisley was a busy enough spaceport; he would be a fugitive only stopping by and on-the-run to whoever it was. He could not even afford allies who could be just as dangerous as enemies if they knew too much.

After their third draw around table Nerwa laid her qualifying cards down first. She threw down the minimum starting bet and each of them matched it. Kenobi and two others also laid down qualifying cards in their turns, also putting down the minimum chips. No one was ready to start any serious betting yet. Kenobi's awareness that he was actively being watched distracted him from the game like a persistent itch that could not be scratched. The game was not important anyway; he already had what he needed for his supplies, discretely won in little bits in different gambling dens.

Kenobi had planned to buy his provisions in the morning and leave on a transport back to Anchorhead. He had only come to the evening gambling tables for the information about the Empire's activities that might be gleaned from the spaceship crew members who came to drink and play. But the night had become more complicated. He bailed out of the hand early, even though he had a good hand so he could concentrate on his observer. The gambling den was two-thirds full of low murmurs and multi-species body odors kept to a minimum with a good ventilators. The Hutt who owned it did not like replacing broken furniture or fixing blaster damage, so the security presence was heavy, but discrete. Spacers who did not want to get into trouble ashore knew this place was safe . . . at least relative to the rest of Mos Eisley. And among that crowd Kenobi sensed one person moving closer.

The Dug won the hand and he snickered as he drew his winnings to him with his prehensile feet. The Balosar spacer lost badly and she pushed her chair back from the table.

A new person immediately slid down into the empty seat. Kenobi scowled at the Dug's leer at the new arrival, but in his side vision, he glimpsed the eyes that had been watching him so avidly. She was a Devaronian with pale, beige fur, faded and dusty-looking, almost matted under the collar of her blue cloak and brown tunic. Her long pointed ears twitched, her slanted eyes nervously flicking in his direction. The Dug rumbled a throaty laugh. The other players at the table appraised the new arrival. Was she richer than she looked? Was her jitteriness just an act? There was no truth among gamblers, only pretense.

Kenobi had no idea who she was. Most importantly, he had no idea how she would know who he was. He wondered, as she fearfully took up her cards, if she even knew how to play the game.

She folded early on her first hand, losing only a little. Kenobi folded right after her. Disappointed, the others played on. The Yakora next to him grumbled on the quality of the gambling in Mos Eisley.

"It's worse on the Imperial worlds," Nerwa took a card. "In Fuskot Spaceport they've banned gaming completely. Troopers shut anything down that starts up. Officers take any kitty lying around. If you're lucky, that's the worse that happens."

Guess that's why they call it gambling, the Yakora commented. That got a mutual laugh from most of the table.

"The Imperials take everything." The light mood died in the hopelessness in Devaronian's voice. Her eyes cast downward to the cards clutched tightly in her clawed hands, she spoke to herself more than the other players. "They take what they want. They cast whoever they wish to interstellar dust. Whenever they want. The Emperor has no loyalty."

No one replied. It was far too revealing and personal a comment for this group. When her turn came around, the Devaronian woman took a card and rearranged her hand around it. Apparently she did know how to play after all.

Kenobi did not recognize her voice. Her spiteful introspection about Emperor Palpatine distracted her for a time, but eventually her eyes flicked back up toward him again. The Dug laid his cards down first, then Grell, Nerwa and the Yakora. The betting started.

Kenobi laid his qualifying cards down before the Devaronian. He bet large.

The Dug cursed and Nerwa glared at him like he had just broken wind. They both threw their cards down, not even adding to the bets on the now larger pile on the table. The Yakora growled a low warning about overconfidence and that more luck might reside in the other cards around the table. The Devaronian woman pushed her matching bet slowly into the pile, her eyes fixed on him, but he gave her only the briefest glance of acknowledgment. They continued drawing cards three times around the table, the pot in the middle getting bigger. Grell and the Yakora dropped out. Nerwa scowled matched the last bet and then rashly challenged his hand.

Kenobi laid his cards down. He had three pairs and a foursome, easily beating the other hands. Uranth and the Dug laughed while the others grumbled and growled. It had been too good a hand not to play. And he wanted to see what the Devaronian woman would do.

She stared with an expression of mixed shock and panic as he pulled the chits toward him. The money was important to her.

"You play well," she challenged.

She wanted him to talk. He minimally gestured back with his shoulders. He already had a reputation for being a player of few words and he did not want his voice to add to her suspicions about his identity. Nerwa collected all the cards and started shuffling.

"Don't I get to know the name of the being taking my money?" the Devaronian persisted.

The temperature among the other players at the table dropped appreciably.

"Not if you lose. Not if you know what's good for you in this town," the Dug snarled. Anonymous gambling and vices were a specialty of Mos Eisley. People who asked a lot of questions were shunned.

The Devaronian seemed to realize her mistake. Grabbing her remaining chits, she pushed away from the table and left.

Kenobi sighed as if he was bored. "I'm quitting while I'm ahead." He started tucking his winnings into pouch on his belt. Nerva glared at him crossly and swept back the partially dealt hands and started shuffling again. Kenobi did not care about the money but he would be too conspicuous if he left it on the table.

Getting up, he went to the shadows at the outer edge of the room, circling around toward the entrance. The Devaronian woman had stopped to exchange her house chits for real currency, marking her as an outworlder and one unfamiliar with Tatooine. Any local would know that the chits at most of the gambling dens were as good as money in town.

Collecting her money, she glanced back toward their table and appeared to startle when she did not see him there. Her eyes darted around the room, but she did not spot him. From her point of view, he had vanished. She hurried outside.

She met a broad-shouldered bronze protocol droid fashioned after a male Devoranian with horns on top of its head and slanted red photoreceptors for 'eyes'. Many places in Mos Eisley displayed 'NO DROIDS' signs including the gambling den they had just left. After the Clone Wars where the Separatists had fielded massive droid armies it seemed that a lot of people disdained eating or socializing anywhere near them.

Keeping to the shadows, Kenobi followed her and her droid. As he feared, she was heading toward the Imperial Garrison. But she did not know Mos Eisley and was keeping to the better lit streets. He knew some shortcuts.

Dodging down some dark and not entirely safe narrow streets and alleys, he got ahead of her on a wide, but less traveled street. The night traffic around the Imperial Garrison was always light. She gasped and whirled around when he put his hand on her shoulder.

"We need to talk." He held up two fingers.

"We need to talk." Her face slacked, her eyes going glassy, her long pointed ears still tense and alert.

"Mistress?" The droid intoned in a deep voice and taking a step toward them, eye sensors blinking.

"We need to talk in private."

"We need to talk in private," she repeated to the machine, her tone drifting between dazed and half-awake.

"Mistress?"

His fingers passed before her eyes again. "Stay here. I'll be back soon."

"Stay here. I'll be back soon." Her voice firmed up with enough authority to satisfy the droid.

Taking her shoulder, he steered her toward the alleyway where he had come from, the droid assuming a position by the entrance, warily looking to either side on the darkened street.

He easily led her passed bins and piles of refuse, small angry scavengers skittering out of their way.

"Why did you come here?" He pinned her to the wall, standing close but not touching, his hands on the wall, his arms giving her no place to go. She was his height, and he kept his eyes locked on hers.

 _Obey._

"I - I - had to. I have to get away. There are supposed to be people here. Low-lifes. Rif-raff. Who can get me to the Outer Rim. At least that's what Falcrius told me." Her face screwed up with pent up hatred. "That rotten, mat-furred hesklet-spoiler!"

Kenobi knew enough Devaronian to know how much she hated Falcrius. "Does he work for the Empire?"

Her anger drained away into confusion. "No. No, he was our servant. He helped me escape. I trusted him . . . " a shade of the fury returned, " . . . Rhem trusted him, in case . . . . the worst happened."

"What happened?

"The Emperor," her tone sank into low contempt. "He took it all. Everything. Our money, our estates, the moon . . . after we all swore loyalty to the Empire. Every Oclono _kneeled_ to him." She was no longer looking back at him; she saw only a past burning with lies and unreciprocated fealty.

 _Oclono_ . . . . the name sparked Kenobi's memory. Senator Rhemsu Oclono from . . . . Alikirius. Not a very distinguished politician except for the depth and range of his corruption. Even Palpatine, when he was only Chancellor, had been known to speak of Senator Oclono disparagingly. But a greedy politician like Oclono could be very useful to an Emperor . . . and a Sith Lord.

Until he wasn't useful anymore.

"So, the Emperor took everything from you. And then your servant took the rest."

She nodded, her breaths hissed between sharp clenched teeth. "Treason! We were accused of treason! _Us!_ The Emperor wanted our moon, but that wasn't enough. He took everything! Rhem made sure I got away. And then . . ." her eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a snarl. "Treachery. Falcrius took everything else, everything I had left. Said that the Imperials didn't think I was that important; I still had time to get away." Her hands suddenly gripped his arms, her claws digging deep into the heavy fabric of his robe and tunic. "As if I was supposed to be grateful that he wasn't turning me into them for the reward. Left me with one small ship and the droid - - - "

Kenobi's fingers passed before her eyes again, deflating her tirade. "But you got away. You are smarter than Falcrius. You'll survive. You're clever. You have plans . . . ." His words calmed her fury and the glassiness returned to the eyes. He gently pulled her hands away from his arms and they fell back to her sides.

"You were heading toward the Imperial Garrison. Why?"

"You." Her eyes widened with wonder. "General Obi-Wan Kenobi. A Jedi. You're worth half-a-million credits."

The price for Jedi had certainly gone up.

"Maybe more. You were a member of the Council. If I turn you in, the Emperor will see that I'm loyal. _We're_ loyal. I can buy Rhem out of prison." She smiled at her big idea, a sinister grin both naïve and predatory, like a child who had just learned the joy of torturing animals.

His hand passed before her eyes again.

"It's too dangerous. The Emperor is worse than a hesklet-spoiler. He cannot be trusted. Ever. He won't give you the reward you deserve. He'll arrest you. And have you and your whole family executed. Publicly."

She bared her pointed teeth.

"But you can go to the Outer Rim. Outside the Empire. Gozephiss Spaceport, in the Lo'Ank system harbors many like you. People who were betrayed by the Empire. They'll help you. They'll welcome you. You can help them." The Lo'Ank system was no friend of the Empire and too small and distant for the Imperials to bother with. And it was every bit as corrupt as the former Senator Rhemsu Oclono of Alikirius. She might feel right at home. Or she might be easy pickings for the syndicates there. Her fantasy about being forgiven by the Emperor was pathetic at best, but most likely fatal. Palpatine would probably have her executed. Right after he executed the Jedi she turned. If the Stormtroopers didn't kill them both right away.

She swayed, absorbing the new plan. "I can get allies. Get my revenge on Falcrius and the others." She sank her teeth into her new plan better than he hoped. Revenge was a powerful motivator. He led her back to the entrance of the alleyway, whispering to her in the ear tilted in his direction.

"And you never saw a Jedi. You thought you saw General Kenobi, but when you confronted me on the street, close up, you knew that I was not him." She nodded to his instructions, her brow furrowing.

"And I made an obscene proposition to you, too vulgar for a woman of your quality and station." She snarled in distaste, but did not look in his direction.

"We're going back to the ship. We're leaving," she told the droid with passable authority as she emerged from the alley. Kenobi stayed back in the shadows.

"Mistress?"

"Now." She strode down the street, the droid shuffling behind her.

He waited until they were near the end of the block before following.

* * *

 **END Part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**FAILURE**

by ardavenport

* * *

 **Part 2  
**

BANG! BANG!

A dock astromech chided a binary lifter over its carelessness dropping a load of parts. Neither machine noticed the robed figure lurking in the shadows of the docking bay as the binary scooped up the plates and tubing and stowed it in a storage locker, the astromech hooting and blatting after it. Finishing their resupply run, they moved on, their whirring and beeping receding as they went on to the next docking bay. The mid-night air, scented with machine oil, coolants and hot metaloids was almost chilly, the typical temperature drop of the desert when Tatooine's two suns dropped below the horizon.

Under the hood of his brown robe, Ben Kenobi looked up at the quiet, still ship. It was modest but reasonably modern. Single cabin with hyperspace engines, but not very powerful. No visible weapons. A larger ship might use it for a shuttle.

And it had been much too long since the Oclono woman had strode up the ramp of her ship with purpose. The ship was still there, had not even started her engines. Unfortunately, one weakness to Jedi influences was that they could not be counted on to last once the affected person had moved on.

Kenobi backed up completely into the darkness, folded his arms before him and cleared his mind.

The city was relatively quiet. Many had retreated to sleep. Others still awake went about their business. Spacers working on their ships. Droids and their minders humming on night duties. Gamblers and predators looking for careless travelers with fat purses. He narrowed his focus to the ship nearby. One person there. Fretting. She had to leave.

 _Leave. Now. It's dangerous to stay._

She couldn't leave. Something was holding her back. She couldn't leave . . . couldn't leave.

 _Leave. Now. Get out of the Empire before anyone here recognizes you._

Her anxiety grew. She had to go. Before anyone recognized her. But . . . but . . . but . . . What happened? What have I done?

Unable to stop it, Kenobi felt the story he had told crack and fall apart. She had the droid. It could confirm what had and had not happened to her. A new panic entered her mind.

 _He's a Jedi. He mind tricked me._

Opening his eyes, Kenobi let go of his focus in the Force. He had sensed her anxiety about money back at the table. Now he knew why. She did not have enough to pay her docking fees. She had never been to Tatooine before and had no credit, so the Port Master would have asked her to pay up front. If she couldn't, her ship's computer would have been locked until she could either pay or sell the ship and pay out of what she could get for it.

Even worse, Kenobi had completely forgotten that he had won her money from her back at the gambling table. He should have returned it. If he went to the Port Master now he could pay and she could leave . . . . but . . . his influence over her had already faded. She knew who he was. She knew he was there. And she was terrified of him.

He peered out at the ship. It was locked tight. He could get in, but was she armed? Would he have to fight her? Kill her? And if she wanted, all she had to do was com for help. Shout out what he was to anyone. Then people would be looking at him. And that suspicion could drive him to abandon his mission, leave Tatooine to draw the attention away from Luke Skywalker and his family. His best defense was his anonymity. Now that was ruined.

A loud hiss from the ship startled him. On the underside, the entry ramp lowered. The bronze protocol droid shuffled down it.

The machine turned its horned head in either direction and then up at the ship, red eye sensors blinking in the dark. Then it turned completely around, looking in all directions. His mistress had sent it out to see if it was safe.

Kenobi moved carefully, slowly toward an exit corridor. He could not influence a droid. But he could still influence her, and the fact that she sent the machine out meant that she likely wanted to leave the ship, probably to pursue her original goal, to report him to the Imperials. Had she already tried to com the garrison? Or she may just not trust that she would get the proper credit (and reward) if she didn't report him in person.

Alone, in the black shadows between two enormous fuel tanks, he heard the droid's footsteps scraping through the sand that got in everywhere on Tatooine, the hum and whir of its body and limbs as it investigated the corridor entrance before moving on. He silently crept out from hiding, back up the corridor to the docking bay where he could observe the droid continuing its methodical inspection.

If she had commed the Imperials that she was being pursued by a Jedi (and if they believed her), the whole spaceport would have been locked down, the docking bay flooded with troopers, whether it was the middle of the night or not. She was keeping her information close.

Information . . . . such a fragile, ephemeral thing. It made her, a minor fugitive with no obvious fighting or survival skills, incredibly dangerous. And him, incredibly vulnerable. Even the whisper that a local desert hermit might be a Jedi in hiding was too much. Every bounty hunter in the sector would show up for even a slim chance at half a million credits.

Ben Kenobi consciously slowed his suddenly more rapid breathing. The possibility that he might have to abandon his mission to watch over young Luke Skywalker, the son of Anakin Skywalker that Darth Vader and the Emperor did not know of, suddenly felt too real for comfort.

He would fail.

The droid finished its circuit around the docking bay and headed back to the landing ramp under the ship. Kenobi inhaled deeply, drawing the Force to him and raising his arm out toward the droid as it stepped on the ramp.

From him - - - his hand - - - to the droid.

Click!

The tiny sound of the droid's activation switch was loud in the quiet of the docking bay. Its eye sensors dark, the bronze droid toppled over. The dim light sources and indicator lights in the bay reflected off the shiny body lying still, partially on, partially off the ramp. A moment later, Ben heard what he was hoping for.

"Em-Ay-Six?"

A moment later, another whisper, a little louder this time, came from inside the ship.

"Em-Ay-Six? What are you doing?"

Still keeping to the shadows, he moved closer.

"Em-Ay-Six?"

He raised his hand at the black outline of the Devaronian woman at the top of the ramp, creeping out from the ship interior. If he could re-establish his influence over her - - make eye contact - - keep her restrained and quiet long enough for him to pay the docking fees - - take the ship to the Outer Rim - - thank her for providing him with transportation because he had gotten stuck on Tatooine for too long (and had never, ever been a resident) - - abandon her at a spaceport out of the Empire's reach - - take the ship and sell it for enough to get transport back to Tatooine. . . .

It could work. He took a few more steps closer, as quiet as a gentle breeze.

"Em-Ay-Six? Get up you stupid machine! I need you!"

Her head and long ears ducked below the underside of the ship.

Arm raised, two fingers extended, he focused on her, the Force moving from him to her, a low rumble of power.

Gasping, she turned and saw him.

 _You can't move._

She froze. Her eyes wide with terror.

"Lieutenant Murri! Get him now!"

It had to be the oldest trick in the database. But it worked. Ben Kenobi turned around to look behind him.

Immediately realizing his mistake, he whirled back to see her fleeing back up the ramp. The motors immediately groaned, pulling the ramp upward.

Ben bounded forward. One. Two. Three steps. He could make it.

His legs stopped and he threw his arms out to regain his balance as if keeping himself from hitting a wall.

The droid was caught between the rising ramp and the underside of the ship. Bright sparks popped and spurted out from the droid's head and shoulder. The ramp motor whir turned into a grinding whine, crushing the droid further.

Breathing hard, he backed away. He could have made it. But he had stopped. The Force was guiding his actions. And Ben Kenobi always followed the Force.

The struggle between the ramp and the droid continued on for long minutes, the ramp sometimes stopping, lowering a little and jolting to a stop making the droid shift a little bit before trying to close again. Back in the shadows by the wall, Ben thought the whole process looked like the ramp was chewing the droid, getting it more thoroughly stuck, scenting the air with ozone and charred circuitry. The Devaronian should have lowered the ramp enough to push the droid out, but she was obviously too terrified to go near it.

The inevitable happened when one ramp strut sparked and the whole mechanism squealed out a loud protest and stopped. After a few seconds the grinding and screeching started again but nothing moved. It motors stopped and started five more times until smoke started drifting from the strut. The acrid smell of abused metalloids grew stronger.

Could he still get in? If he had his lightsaber, certainly. But he didn't. The lightsaber was the weapon of a Jedi, not a humble hermit shopping for supplies in Mos Eisley. Master Qui-Gon's presence in the Force had reminded him of that during their mediations, so he had left it hidden back at his hut in the Jundland Wastes.

But even if he had it, what would he do? The ship was un-flyable now. Or at the very least it could not leave the atmosphere and where else could one go on Tatooine? Looking at the damage, Kenobi thought that if she had sold the droid, she would have easily been able to pay her docking fees. But if the droid had been her pilot, she could not have afforded to get rid of it. Given how little she obviously knew about landing ramps, that was very likely. So, her poverty would have driven to try to replenish her funds in one of Tatooine's gambling dens. Where she had spotted him.

Now they were both trapped. She could not leave her damaged ship. He could not leave her with what she knew.

He sensed the presence first before he heard it and ducked back further into the shadows before seeing any movement. The astromech and its partner binary were back. The astromech whistled as it rolled forward and around the ship. It almost backed into the boxy binary with an electronic scream when it saw the mangled Devaronian droid. The two machines hurried out.

From bad to worse. They would alert the nigh techs. They would look for the owner of the ship. She might call for help. Kenobi thought he saw motion in the darkened forward ports. Why hadn't he gotten into the ship when he could? He could have easily overpowered her and left.

 _What stopped me?_

 _/You know why, Obi-Wan./_

He took a long calming breath, stilling his disquiet as if it might scatter the tenuous connection to his old Master's presence in the Force.

 _Master._

 _/You know why, Obi-Wan. You know what would have happened./_

If he had stolen her ship, gone to the Outer Rim, let her off at some safe port, taken the ship with the pretense of moving on, leading the trail away from Tatooine . . . .

No.

There was no safe port for her. She could not survive on her own. She would fall prey to ruffians who would take whatever she had left. She would die, as surely if he killed her with his own hands.

And if she did survive and managed to avoid slavery, forced prostitution or worse, she would be out for revenge. She could find a bounty hunter who was willing to take a chance on a half-a-million credit bounty. Kenobi could not avoid the fact that he had been seen on Tatooine, even if people didn't know his assumed name or where he came from. A few days of asking casual questions would reveal that he was a local. A few more days would lead them to him. And one bounty hunter would lead to more. His only choice would be to leave, lead them away from the Tatooine. Luke would be unprotected. The shadow of failure chilled him inside.

The only way to prevent any of that would be for the knowledge of his identity and the Oclono woman who had gained it, to die.

Wetness stung at the corner of Ben's eyes.

 _/I could not do that, Master./_

She may be a family member of a massively corrupt former Imperial Senator and hardly an innocent. But he would not be killing her in defense of himself. He would only be defending his mission to watch over Luke. A Jedi may self-sacrifice for the sake of a mission . . .

. . . . but never sacrifice another. It was against the Jedi Code. But with the Jedi Order all but destroyed was there a Jedi Code anymore?

There had to be, even if he was the only one left to follow it. Otherwise, what was the point? Of anything?

Years of isolation . . . a mediocre, tedious existence, scratching out a life in the desert, faithfully keeping to his minimal task to ensure Luke Skywalker's safety from a distance, while his narrow-minded uncle forbid him to train the boy in the ways of the Jedi. Day after day, he watched Luke grow older. He was already older than his father had been when he began his training. A vast potential wasted while the Emperor continued to rule the galaxy, the Dark Side spreading, growing stronger, digging deep roots in . . . . while Obi-Wan Kenobi watched it happen, when not too long ago, he had led armies into battle to defeat it. Before the revelation that the war, the ravaged planets, death and Anakin's fall, had just been part of Sith Lord's plan all along.

Obi-Wan inhaled a near sob. Tears flowed down his cheeks.

 _I have failed, Master._

 _/No, Obi-Wan. You were guided by the Force and you acted according to its lead. That is never a failure./_

 _But if I have to leave Luke unprotected - -_

 _/Then the Force will find another. Without you. And if Luke falls, there will be another after him./_

There is was. He saw it as clear as if he had always known all along.

He had known, but he had not accepted it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he expected Owen Lars to relent on allowing him to train Luke to be a Jedi. That he would be the boy's teacher. That he would lead him to defeat the Dark Side. That he would be rewarded for his faithful patience.

That was not the way of the Jedi.

He wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe.

 _Yes, Master._

Defeating the Dark Side was not _his_ fight. He was only part of it. He may yet train Luke. Or not. He turned his head back toward the ship.

 _If she tells them who I am, I will run. Lead them away from Luke._

Obi-Wan knew that after he had led them away from Tatooine, it would be better for him to die rather than be captured. Qui-Gon had been training him in how to retain his identity beyond death. But his training was hardly complete. That did not matter.

Alone and hiding in the shadows of the silent docking bay, he let go of his unspoken ambition to personally destroy the Sith.

He heard noises in the distance. People. Many people. Marching? Many more than he would expect from a repair crew to come clear one smashed droid from a landing ramp. He wondered about the occupant hiding in her ship. In spite of his loyalty to the Jedi Code, he did not care for the notion that she might profit from his demise. He would much prefer that the bounty on a Jedi go unclaimed. But he knew he had no say in the matter.

 _/Sadly, she carries with her the makings of her own destruction./_

He had no time to ponder Qui-Gon's meaning. The sounds in the distance resolved into the very familiar drumbeat of Imperial troops on the march. He glanced toward the nearest exit corridor, but he knew they would be encircling the whole area. A hiding place outside the docking bay would be no better than one inside. Backing up, he lowered himself to the ground behind a stack of crates filling most of his alcove.

The lights came up. The loading bay doors rumbled opened followed by running bootsteps, the clack of plastoid armor and weapons.

"Ahsten Oclono." An amplified voice filled the bay. "You are a wanted person and an enemy of the Empire. Leave your ship and surrender, now."

Armor creaked and weapons cocked.

Nothing happened.

Kenobi risked a look around the crate. Between the legs of three troopers he saw at least thirty Stormtroopers surrounding the ship, most with standard issue blasters, a few with heavier weapons and one rocket launcher that he could see. He was surprised that a family member of Senator Oclono would merit such attention.

The junior Imperial officer among them signaled and three troopers ran forward with long, powered pry bars with an armed squad right behind them. It was trivially easy for them to lever the ramp down, the droid was still blocking it open.

Kenobi ducked back when he saw too may helmeted heads looking in his direction. He closed his eyes.

Nothing here to see. Just equipment. Junk spare parts that was more trouble than it was worth . . . . .

Stormtroopers were trivially easy to influence, even from a distance. Their programmed minds were designed to obey orders. None of them looked his way while he listened to the wrecked droid clattering to the ground and the ship's ramp creaking down low enough for the booted feet to jump onto and run up.

Faintly, from inside the ship he heard, "No, no, no! I have information! I'll trade you - - -"

Kenobi eyes few open at the single blaster bolt that ended in a high pitched scream. A life ended; a body fell.

Then the blaster fire continued and he wondered how much deader the Empire wanted her. More booted feet headed up the ramp followed by more muffled blaster fire and crackles and squeals of destruction. She was being made an example of. Or perhaps they though she had information damaging to the Empire, or the Emperor. A sleazy politician like Oclono who had skillfully survived the transition from Republic to Empire might have kept some compromising data about his overlord, insurance for his safety that could be passed on to his unknowing relatives, though Kenobi did not want to imagine any deprivation that a Sith Lord could want to remain hidden.

Whether there was any information, real or imagined, in the ship's systems, it was gone now. And the most important information had died when they killed their fugitive.

He remained hidden while the troopers went about their business cleaning up. There was the unmistakable sounds of a body falling to the ground from the ship and then being carted off. Most of the troopers left, but enough stayed to guard the ship to keep him for leaving, still covertly influencing them to ignore his hiding place.

Kenobi heard new arrivals and the distinct sound of boot heels snapping together.

"Sir!"

"Alright, Lieutenant Murri is it? What's going on."

"A fugitive, Sir. We took care of it; she's been neutralized."

"Hey!" a new, higher, voice called in protest.

"Stand aside trooper. He's authorized."

Footsteps ran up the damaged ship ramp.

"Who was it, Lieutenant?"

"The wife of a former Senator who has been convicted of treason."

"And you took care of it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very good. That will at least make the report simpler. How did you find out she was here and especially at this unspeakable hour."

"She actually commed the garrison herself, she got me up from my - - - "

She woke you up, Kenobi interpreted.

" - - - duties. Said she had valuable information to trade. She was very insistent and her offer of a trade was highly suspicious, Sir. She said someone was after her and she needed help. I contacted the Port Master about her. Of course, the documents she gave him were false. My men identified her almost immediately and I send a couple of squads to capture her. She resisted arrest."

Footsteps pounded down the ramp. "See here, Commander. Your men have completely destroyed this ship's computers. I'll have to pay to have this hulk hauled away for scrap."

"Was there a reward for her capture, Lieutenant?" the Commander's voiced inquired.

"Yes, Sir. Four-thousand credits."

"That should cover your costs, Port Master. Plus you'll get whatever you can salvage from the ship. That should cover your costs."

"Well, I suppose. Just barely," he grumbled, but said nothing more. He knew better. He would not question their methods and they would not arrest him if he sometimes accepted arrivals with questionable ID, probably accompanied by a hefty bribe.

"Very well, then. I'll have my pay master contact you in the morning." The Port Master knew when he was dismissed and he left.

"Did you find anyone else here, Lieutenant? Was there anyone after her?"

"We didn't find anyone. It was probably a bounty hunter who knew who she was and she contacted us out of desperation."

"Hmmmph." The commander grumbled with distaste. "Then I'd rather the Port Master get the bounty than that scum. This poodoo town is lousy with them."

"Yes, Sir." his subordinate agreed.

They discussed minor points on the report the Lieutenant would have to write before leaving. Kenobi wearily stayed attentive, still subtly influencing the troopers to look in other places as they finished up with the ship. Huddling in his robe, he felt the fingers of one hand slipping out past an edge that should not have been there. Exploring further, he realized that the Oclono woman's claws had made holes in the upper sleeves of his robe and the tunic under it when she grabbed his arms, though she hadn't gotten past the under tunic and the skin underneath. She would have easily drawn blood without his layers of clothes.

Finally, the last pair of booted feet faded from hearing range. He waited several minutes more before peering out of his refuge.

Even the docking bay droids were gone though no one had turned the lights down. Joints stiff from sitting so long (he could keenly feel his advancing years in Tatooine's harsh environment), he stretched before going to the nearest exit. He approached the turn leading to the avenue outside carefully in case the Imperials had left a guard. But there was none.

The sky was still dark and he wrapped his robe tightly to his body to keep out the chill. He made his way back on foot to the hostel where he had engaged a room. He wanted to think about what happened, but beyond being wary of the usual criminal elements on the late-night streets of Mos Eisley (he had to go around two streets to avoid groups of toughs looking for an easy mark) his brain wasn't working very well.

His room was tiny and overpriced, but clean, maintained by an owner who lived on the ground floor and loathed any form of vermin. After climbing up the narrow stairs and going down the half-lit hallway, Kenobi nearly fell into his room after the door slid aside when he pulled the key chit out the slot. Shrugging out of his robe and letting it drop down onto the narrow sleeping pallet, he sat down next to it. Much as he wanted to lie down and sleep, he wanted one thing more.

"Qui-Gon?" he whispered to the empty air, leaning his head back, eyes closed.

He waited, his mind as still as deep space.

He felt his breath, inhaled and exhaled from his body, his heart beating, seemingly in rhythm with the Force. But the low, gentle voice did not return.

Sighing, he slouched forward and opened his eyes. The always cloudless sky outside, visible through the room's tiny, round window was just beginning to lighten to deep blue, the groans of work animals and other very early morning activity rising from the street below.

Qui-Gon spoke to him for training, for counsel and when he was needed by events.

Melancholy over, and his acceptance of, his vastly diminished role in the fate of the galaxy and the balance between the Light and Dark Sides of the Force was hardly a need recognized by the Jedi Code. And apparently not not by the winds of the Force from where Qui-Gon Jinn's presence emerged from time to time, when he was needed.

Wearily Obi-Wan loosened the straps and pushed his boots off. His belt joined it a moment later, the pouch heavy with the extra money he had won at such a high cost the night before. He poked at the new holes torn in tunic by the Oclono woman's claws. They were small and would be easy enough to repair in the tunic and his robe after he returned to his hut by the Dune Sea.

Loosening his clothes, he stretched out on the minimally padded pallet. He would sleep, until the midday heat got him. It would probably be too late to leave for Anchorhead by then, so he would stay another night. And linger in the cantinas and gambling dens listening for news of the Empire. Perhaps he would indulge in a real water bath with his extra money. And perhaps when he was less exhausted, he would hear an answer from his old Master.

Though he had missed his Master's company badly after Qui-Gon was killed on Naboo when the Sith first appeared, Obi-Wan had dutifully let go of the sadness of his passing. All Jedi died eventually. But he also did not restrain or hide in any way his joy when Yoda told him that Qui-Gon had lingered on beyond death. He was unreservedly glad that he was not alone in his exile on Tatooine, however irregular Qui-Gon's company was. But whatever rules governed the essence of his old Master in the Force did not seem to allow for simple and heart-felt consolation.

It seemed a shame, he thought drowsily. Qui-Gon had never been known for obeying rules.

/ No./ Qui-Gon's voice answered in his head with a trace of a chuckle. /I'm not./

* * *

 **END**

 **Disclaimer:** All characters and the [i]Star Wars[/i] universe belong to Disney and Lucasfilm; I am just playing in their sandbox


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